Footprints On The Sands Of Time
by Sweeney Agonistes
Summary: How, precisely, did Minerva and Theron meet? And just who is this 'Grindlewald' fellow, anyway?
1. Part 1

A/N: Beta-read by the marvelous Zsenya over at the Sugar Quill. My HTML is horrible; hence, you get italics and lovely things like that over there, in addition to liner notes at the end. Do go over to see how many homages you caught while reading. (http://www.sugarquill.net/authors/sweeneyagonistes.html) Oh, and please assume all usual disclaimers.  
  
(Would you believe in a love at first sight?)  
  
Yes, I'm certain that it happens all the time.  
  
-John Lennon and Paul McCartney, "All You Need Is Love"  
  
November 30, 1944:  
  
I lifted my bow from the strings and stared at the first violinist. An incredible performance from her - I'd never known Medea to play that well. She shrugged and grinned at me; I grinned back. "Stand up!" she hissed. I did, as did she, the second violinist, and the cellist. We stared out at the wildly applauding audience, searching -  
  
And there they were - Medea's and my parents, waving and looking horribly proud. I aimed a special smile at them and then followed my fellow quartet members off-stage, where, being careful of our instruments, we indulged in a jubilant group hug. I couldn't believe it - we'd made it through Cherrytree's Fifth Concerto, long considered the hardest quartet music written by a wizard, and almost impossible to play well without the Prestissimo Charm on one's fingers and bow. But we had done it, and we had done it justice. Breaking from the huddle, I laid my viola to rest in its case lovingly. I rose and turned around -  
  
And there he was. He had said he would come, and Professor Dumbledore reached out and took my hands, looking pleased. "Minerva, my dear, that was simply phenomenal. And I notice you did it without any charms. You should be proud. Very, very proud." He beamed at me. I blushed and averted my eyes from him, only to see a young man standing next to my former Transfiguration professor. Professor Dumbledore saw where my eyes had gone and said, "Ah, yes. Minerva McGonagall, violist, meet Theron Dumbledore, researcher at St. Mungo's - and, incidentally, my son." Theron extended his hand and I shook it, inwardly marveling at his resemblance to his father. Theron had black hair, and Professor Dumbledore's was auburn, but other than that, it was quite obvious that they were related - especially when one looked at the eyes. They were the same piercing, slightly disconcerting blue.  
  
Theron said quietly, "An excellent performance, Miss McGonagall. Quite impressive." He smiled at me, those blue eyes softening, and I blushed again. Except - oh, get a grip, Minerva. He had to be at least twenty-five, if not older. Much too old to be interested in a girl fresh out of Hogwarts - and a plain girl, at that.  
  
Professor Dumbledore twinkled at me and said, "Minerva, if you're not doing anything right now, how about catching a cup of something at the Leaky Cauldron with us?"  
  
Professor Dumbledore had come all the way from Hogwarts to see me perform. How could I say no? Especially considering that young Mr. Dumbledore would be obliged to come along with the two of you, teased a horrible voice in my head. I ignored it. "All right," I said. "I would be more than happy to join you. Just give me a minute -" I collared Medea on her way out the door and said, "I'm going out for a drink with Professor Dumbledore."  
  
She nodded, both at my statement and at the professor. "I'll see you at home, then?"  
  
"Right," I said. She left, and I turned back to the Dumbledores with a smile, which they both returned. Professor Dumbledore offered me his arm, and Theron walked at my other side as we left the WWN performance hall.  
  
Professor Dumbledore said, "How does it feel to know that thousands of people were listening to you just now?"  
  
I laughed and said, "It's quite a heady feeling. Although I must admit that being part of a string quartet was not exactly what I expected to be doing after Hogwarts."  
  
Theron's voice was quiet and more thoughtful than Professor Dumbledore's light-hearted voice. I liked it. "And what did you expect to be doing, Miss McGonagall?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know." I was hard-pressed to keep a tremor out of my voice. He was curious about me. "Perhaps Ministry work." We exited the WWN building and I shivered - the night was cold and clear, and my black performance robes, although rather becoming, were made of thin, fine silk. In one deft, graceful movement, Theron removed his thick, beautifully woven, and best of all, fur-lined cloak and put it on my shoulders. -Did he leave his hand on my shoulder for a bit longer than was really necessary? I said quietly, "Thank you." He smiled at me and turned into the Leaky Cauldron. As I followed him into the pub, I saw Professor Dumbledore smile into his moustache.  
  
Paying our respects to the elderly coatrack, we hung up our outer garments, sat at a small table in the corner, and ordered three butterbeers, which were summarily delivered. I looked down at the table, not quite sure how to start a conversation. However, Professor Dumbledore began to talk about the merits of various Muggle composers, and we were soon engrossed in a most interesting conversation on that subject. Theron and Professor Dumbledore began a mild argument on Scarlatti versus Bach, and technical terms flew back and forth that were soon far out of my range of knowledge. I took that opportunity to study Theron.  
  
He wasn't what one would term as handsome, but there was an indescribable - repleteness about him. Yes, repleteness. He radiated a certain amount of strength, but it was softer than his father's. I had the feeling that he controlled himself very well, kept himself under a tight rein. Then there were the eyes. They were my main hint that there was something under that polite, warm camouflage. Professor Dumbledore's eyes sparkled; Theron's positively crackled. There was an electric quality to them that told me - that told me -  
  
Professor Dumbledore laughed and drained the rest of his butterbeer. "All right, Theron. Scarlatti was innovative; Bach was symmetrical. Do we agree on that much?"  
  
Theron grinned - oh, his face lit up! - and said, "Agreed."  
  
"Then we'll have to leave it at that. It's getting late, and I'm expected back at Hogwarts." He leaned over, kissed me on the cheek, and rose. "I see no reason why the two of you can't stay here and chat some, though."  
  
Theron nodded and looked at me. "No objections in this quarter."  
  
I swallowed and tried to disguise it by shaking my head. "None here, either."  
  
Professor Dumbledore smiled and said, "I'll leave you to it, then. Theron, you take good care of her - she's the best Transfiguration student I've ever had." I flushed once more - drat my cheeks! "Minerva, my dear, you were simply wonderful tonight. A wonderful evening. Thank you." He pressed my hands in his and smiled at me.  
  
Touched, I said, "Thank you so much for coming. It - it means a lot to me for you to have been here."  
  
"Not at all. It was a true pleasure. And I will give your brother the full report. I'm sorry he couldn't attend."  
  
"Me too - but he'll be all right. I know you'll tell him all about it, and be sure to give him my love."  
  
"I will." He turned to Theron. "Now, I was not speaking lightly when I told you to take care of her. See her home. You both know what's been going on recently."  
  
We nodded, and Theron said, "You have my word, Dad."  
  
"Good," he said. He rested a hand on each of our shoulders and smiled. "I will see you both - when I see you." And he left. I wasn't sure, but I could have sworn he was smiling into his moustache again.  
  
Theron took a mouthful of butterbeer and sat back in his chair. "You must have been a terrific student - Dad doesn't give compliments like that lightly." I blushed. Again. He said, "You have a brother at Hogwarts?"  
  
I nodded. "Maimonides - he's a fifth-year Gryffindor."  
  
"Any other siblings?"  
  
"My sister Medea - she was the first violinist in our quartet. She graduated from Beauxbatons two years ago. She's very into French culture."  
  
"And so you're the middle child?"  
  
I nodded. "Yes."  
  
"You don't seem all that odd to me." He smiled and had a sip of his butterbeer.  
  
For once, I didn't blush. "We got along amazingly well as children."  
  
"I've always wondered what it would be like to have siblings," he said wistfully.  
  
"You're an only?"  
  
"Oh, yes," he said. "Mum never wanted to have any more, and Dad had plenty of his 'children' at Hogwarts, so I was it."  
  
I said, "I don't remember seeing you at Hogwarts." I would have remembered - how could I have forgotten? "Did you attend another school?"  
  
"I believe I finished school the year before you arrived," he said.  
  
I did some quick figuring. "Then that would make you - twenty-five?" My estimate from earlier.  
  
"Twenty-six," he said, smiling. "I had a birthday last month."  
  
That settled it. Too old for me - or for my father's liking, at least. "What is it exactly that you do at St. Mungo's?"  
  
"I work with children who have been subjected to Grindlewald." His face took on a closed quality, and I knew why. The dark wizard Grindlewald had been kidnapping young witches and wizards and doing dreadful things to them - mutilating them, somehow sapping their magical abilities, subjecting them to torture so great that they went insane - and were sent to St. Mungo's so that research could be conducted on them to try and find some way to help them. Now that school was in session, Grindlewald had had to resort to taking ten-year-olds who were about to go to school, and fresh graduates - like me. Rumor had it that Grindlewald had created a more powerful variant of the Cruciatus Curse that would drive the victim insane after repeated use, unlike the old version that simply caused pain. It was cruel and horrible, and I was even more impressed by Theron than I was before. It took a gentle soul and a will of steel to keep going back every day, determined to find something to help those children.  
  
Theron cleared his throat. "You know about my parents - what about yours?"  
  
"Well - " I hesitated. "Mother was a nurse at St. Mungo's, but she had to quit to stay home with Father. He was injured - he's a Hit Wizard - in the attack on Grindlewald's first stronghold." Theron opened his mouth, but I forestalled his question. "He wasn't hit with the new Cruciatus, but Grindlewald shattered both of his legs and put some odd sort of poison in his system all at the same time. He's almost fully recovered, though - he's going back to work in a few weeks, as is Mother. Tonight was his first outing since it happened. Medea and I were so glad that they were there tonight." It was getting easier to talk to him. A good sign.  
  
Theron smiled - at me! He smiled at me! - and said, "Miss McGonagall -"  
  
"Minerva," I interjected.  
  
His smile grew brighter. I nearly melted. "Minerva. My Uncle Angus is going to Majorca for a few weeks next Monday, and next Wednesday, the family orchestra meets. Uncle Angus is our viola player, and we really need someone. Will you come?"  
  
Would I come? That was like asking if grindylows liked water. "I would be delighted," I said carefully. "What time - and where?"  
  
"Do you live in London?"  
  
"Yes - in the rooms above Flourish and Blotts." Medea and I shared the flat there.  
  
"I get off work at five. I'll pick you up at six, and we'll have a quick dinner before we go to Weathervane." Weathervane? "Do you have your Apparition license?" I nodded. "Good." Theron pulled his pocket watch out and said, "It's close to midnight, and I have work in the morning. Ordinarily, I would ask if I could escort you home, but Dad made it pretty clear that he wants me to do it whether you want me to or not. You don't mind?"  
  
"Not at all," I said, venturing a shy smile that he mirrored, if more confidently. He got up and went to the coatrack, waiting for me rise before he did so. He retrieved his cloak and settled it on my shoulders, closing the clasp with deft, lithe fingers. Like his father, he offered me his arm, and as I slid my arm into his, I reflected that walking and holding Theron's arm was a great deal different from walking and holding Professor Dumbledore's arm; Professor Dumbledore didn't give me that odd, warm feeling.  
  
I could feel Theron's sinewy arm through the thick fabric of his robes. It made me feel secure, much like Professor Dumbledore had at school. Everyone knew that old Armando Dippet was nothing more than a figurehead, and when he retired, Professor Dumbledore would get the job of Headmaster. He was certainly Headmaster in everything but name, although too modest to admit it. Even teachers brought their problems to Professor Dumbledore before seeing Dippet, and what with Grindlewald looming on the horizon, he had the task of making everyone feel secure while getting at least a little education accomplished. He did it admirably well, and I knew that I was not the only student who went to him for hot chocolate and crumpets when they needed to talk.  
  
Theron, even though I had only known him for a few hours, somehow made me feel the same way: that there was a purpose for everything; that despite Grindelwald, I was safe; that everything would turn out all right.  
  
A shadow flashed in the doorway beside us; I instinctively moved closer to him, regretting the move the moment I made it. However, Theron removed his arm from mine and instead placed it securely around my waist. Once more, I blushed, although it was too dark to tell, thankfully. I was not accustomed to the attention of males. - He's too old for you, Minerva, get back in control of yourself.  
  
We stopped in front of Flourish and Blotts, and Theron took my hands. "Minerva, I know that Dad's already told you how marvelous you were, but let me add to it - and thank you for this evening. He would never say so, but Grindlewald has really been worrying him. A first-year Ravenclaw was taken a few months ago - her mother was sick and Dad gave her permission to go see her. I've told him over and over that it wasn't his fault, but he still feels guilty. Being able to come to an evening of music, especially when performed by a student of his that made it and is still safe, did a lot for him."  
  
"I - I'm glad," I said. I didn't know what else to say. It was disturbing to think that the rock of my school days could falter.  
  
He smiled easily and continued, "That's also one of the reasons I'm glad that you're coming next Wednesday. Dad will be there, and seeing you will do him good."  
  
"What does he play?" I asked curiously.  
  
"The viola da gamba," he said.  
  
"Do you not have a cellist?"  
  
"No," he said.  
  
"What do you play?"  
  
There was that grin again. "I conduct."  
  
I suddenly had a vision of a whole host of Dumbledores playing music with Theron at the helm. I liked it. He said, "Dad used to conduct, but he like playing better, and I wasn't good at any particular instrument, so I took over. Strangely enough, they all listen to me." He suddenly seemed to remember the time and said, "Listen, I'll see you next Wednesday at six, all right?"  
  
I had become so intent on Theron's words that somehow I had forgotten that he was holding my hands. I couldn't find words, and so I merely nodded.  
  
He smiled easily at me. "Good night," he said.  
  
I managed to get my farewell out without squeaking. He released my hands and went down Diagon Alley. I went upstairs and collapsed into an armchair, mind reeling, suffused with feeling.  
  
It was only as I was dressing for bed that I realized that I still had Theron's cloak.  
  
I slept with it that night. 


	2. Part 2

Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast,   
To soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak.  
-William Congreve  
  
December 6, 1944:  
  
Theron's cloak was a rich, thick blue. The blue of his eyes. Small paisley swirls danced over the brocade that tumbled down from the shoulders and fell into soft pleats that simply radiated confidence. The inside of it was lined with soft, warm fur - I thought it was rabbit, but I wasn't certain. The collar was brown fur that I was sure was mink. The clasp was silver and intricate - a Celtic pattern. The cloak smelled of leather and cedar. It fell nearly to the floor on me, and would have been about mid-calf on Theron.  
  
In the six days that passed between our initial meeting and the day that I was to play with the Dumbledore family orchestra, I got to know that cloak rather well. I slept with it. When I read at night in my chair, I tucked it around me to keep warm. I wore it when I worked at Flourish and Blotts, which wasn't much warmer than our apartment upstairs. Medea saw, but did not comment - she knew that I did not want to talk about young Mr. Dumbledore. After her initial inquiries, she understood that he was very much something to be kept to myself for a while. I usually told her things in my own time and in my own way, when I was ready.  
  
There hadn't been enough developments for me to think things over logically. I had not heard from him or Professor Dumbledore since last Thursday. There had only been the first meeting and the invitation. If it were not for the cloak, I would have taken it all for a dream. As things usually went, males simply were not interested in me. I was plain, intelligent, and quiet, and that did it for most young men.  
  
However, Theron was quite decidedly not most young men.  
  
On that Wednesday, I worked until three. Medea knew that I was going out, and she herself had a meeting with the man that she was seeing. You're not 'seeing' Theron, I told myself with disgust. Honestly.  
  
I went upstairs and took a long, hot bath. Then it was time to get dressed. I had used part of my savings earlier that week to purchase some new robes. They were a deep green, and rather elegant. Green was one of the few colors that looked good on me, other than black. I liked black, but not for tonight. The Dumbledores were notoriously vivacious, and I did not want to appear stiff.   
  
Medea came in as I was fussing with my hair, and she sighed as I began to pull at the unruly wisps that for some reason simply would not stay up. "Minerva, it looks better down, especially with those robes."  
  
I said through clenched teeth, "I am performing. It goes up."  
  
She laughed and picked up the brush. "Minerva, darling sister, you're not performing. You are going to play with an ensemble of friends and no audience. Your hair is going to be down, and it is going to stay down, and it is going to look marvelous."  
  
"You know I never listened to those twits when they were giving each other makeovers in the common room," I said fretfully.  
  
Medea tapped me on the shoulder gently, making me look at her reflection in the mirror, where she was grinning. "That's what older sisters are for. Relax."   
  
I tried.   
  
She twisted the hair at my temples back and joined it with a silver clasp, where it fell straight with the rest of my hair to the middle of my back. The mirror said, "You should listen to your older sister more often."  
  
Medea laughed. "There now. Someone appreciates my styling skills."   
  
Despite myself, I laughed too. "Medea, you're marvelous."  
  
She put her hands on my shoulders. "Listen. It's not a performance. It's not a date. It's a family gathering - and you know the family. From everything you've ever written me, it sounds as though you're good friends with Professor Dumbledore, and everyone knows that the Dumbledores are friendly, if a bit strange. And you're doing what you know best - music. Don't worry about it."  
  
I nodded and tried to smile. Medea hugged me. "Little sister, it'll all be fine. Just don't worry - and be yourself." Fetching her cloak, she settled it on her shoulders and her hat on her head. "I'm off to meet Finn - I'll catch up with you later tonight."   
  
I found my voice. "Have fun."  
  
She smiled. "You, too." And with that, she was out the door and gone. I was on my own.  
  
It was five o'clock. Theron would arrive at six. I found my own cloak - green, but not fur-lined - and set it on a chair by the door with Theron's. Staring around the room for a moment, I then realized that it might be a good idea to change the strings on my viola. I had bought a particularly nice set on Monday, and they would do wonderfully tonight. I sat down at the table in the kitchen and set to work. After I finished, I rosined my bow and began to run through exercises. I had to do something to keep the butterflies in my stomach under control.  
  
All too soon - and yet, not soon enough - the doorbell rang. In a quavering voice, I cried, "Just a minute!" I stashed away my viola and bow, shut the clasps on the case, and ran with it to the front door. I took a moment to pinch my cheeks, gather myself together, and take a deep breath. And then I opened the door.  
  
He was there. He was really there, smiling at me - and looking tired. "Hello," he said.  
  
"Hello," I said. Oh, this was going horribly already.  
  
"Ready to go?"  
  
I nodded, picking up his cloak and handing it to him. "I'm sorry - I forgot to give this back to you."  
  
"Quite all right," he said, taking it, looking as though he was thinking. We stood there, him looking at me, me looking at the floor, and then he spoke. "Miss - Minerva? May I come in and speak with you?"  
  
I nodded, showing him to what Medea and I liked to jokingly call the 'divan'. "Please - sit down. May I get you something to drink?" Etiquette was firm ground for me. I was grateful for that.   
  
He waved a hand at me. "No, thank you - but sit. Please."  
  
I did.  
  
Theron brushed a hand through his hair. "Minerva, I feel like I can talk to you. Not just because you know Dad - this is about him, by the way - but because…there's just something about you that tells me that."  
  
That was the greatest compliment that I had ever received. Others had dismissed me as unapproachable; Theron viewed me as someone he could talk to. I nodded and he continued. "Do you remember that first-year Ravenclaw that I told you about last Thursday?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"She - she was found in an alley last night. And I had to work with her today."  
  
I felt horrible. "Oh - Theron - "  
  
He spoke to his hands lying palms-up in his lap. "She was raving. Positively raving. Wouldn't let anyone touch her - she just kept screaming. Hex marks all over her. Hair all singed off. It was evident she'd been submitted to the new Cruciatus. It…it was horrible."  
  
Deciding to be bold for the sake of comfort, I reached out and took one of his hands, squeezing it firmly. He let out a long, shaky breath. "I haven't told Dad yet, and as far as I know, he hasn't been notified. I've asked for him not to be notified - I want to tell him myself. And - if you don't mind - I'd like for you to be there. He trusts you."  
  
I nodded. How horrible. "Of course."  
  
"Well." He cleared his throat. "If we're going to have dinner, I suppose we'd better get moving. We're due at Weathervane at eight."  
  
We rose together, and he helped me into my cloak. Before we left, he rested a hand on my shoulder. "Minerva - I can't tell you how much this means to me, having you come tonight. Dad has always told me how solid you were, and now I really believe it." He smiled at me, and I smiled back. Like Medea said. Relax.  
  
We left the building and went to Julian's, a small café near the end of Diagon Alley. Dinner passed quietly. We discussed music and little else. Theron insisted on picking up the check, although I felt badly about it. He then took me to a small alley that was generally used as an Apparition point by the visitors to Diagon Alley. He said, "Weathervane is a few miles outside of Oxford, so it's really not all that far. Just hang on to me - you'll be all right." I supposed that he picked up on my nervousness. I clutched my viola to me with one arm and his hand with the other and nodded. "On three, then. One…two…three."  
  
And we were off, leaving behind Diagon Alley for what looked like a very odd bright blue manor house with twelve gables. On each gable, there sat a bright pink -   
  
"Weathervane," said Theron. I couldn't help but laugh. Each weathervane was different, showing the twelve traditional animal Guardians. We went up to the purple plaid - plaid? - front door, and Theron lifted the ring on the phoenix-shaped knocker. Before he could let it loose, the door opened, and a small, rotund woman beamed up at me and Theron. "Allo, dearies!"  
  
Theron swept her up into a hug. "Aunt Alyce, it's so good to see you!"  
  
She laughed. "And likewise, young Theron. We're just about to get started - go on in and warm up the winds. I'll see to Miss McGonagall." It was startling that she knew my name, but then I figured that Theron probably told them that I was coming.  
  
He clipped a smart salute. "Yes, ma'am." I laughed. This was a beautiful side of Theron - much better than seeing him worried about his job. He then swept inside, cloak trailing after him.  
  
The woman said, "Now, dear, let me take your cloak."  
  
I said, "Thank you…"  
  
She beamed again. "Just call me Aunt Alyce. Everyone else does."  
  
I smiled back and said, "I'm so sorry Uncle Angus couldn't make it."  
  
"Uncle Angus?" she said, somewhat confused.   
  
"Uncle Angus, the viola player who's in Majorca…" My voice trailed off as she got a very shrewd sort of smile.  
  
"Is that what young Theron told you?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"Well, dear, just between you and me," she said in a conspiratorial tone of voice, "the only Angus we've ever had in the family died in 1364, and he certainly never visited Majorca, much less played the viola."  
  
I was dumbfounded. Why would Theron lie to me? "So there's never been a viola player in the family orchestra?"  
  
"Not since Cousin Anselm died twenty years ago." She saw my surprised - and hurt - expression and said, "Take it as a compliment, Miss McGonagall. If I know young Theron, he was too shy to ask you outright. He hasn't brought a young lady to the house for years."  
  
I nodded, rather stunned. I would certainly have a lot to discuss with Medea later tonight. The ramifications of this development could be enormous.  
  
Aunt Alyce said, "Now, dear, I think he's finished warming up the brass - " we heard a resolving B flat come out of the cacophony at the end of the hall - "and he'll be tuning up the strings now. Run along - it's Handel tonight."  
  
I thanked her and went down the hall, opening the old, lime-green oak doors to find a ballroom with pink-and-white-checkered tiling, a yellow conductor's podium, and about forty people warming up and tuning various instruments. I saw a sousaphone, several recorders of various timbre, a flugelhorn, a trombone, a set of tympani, two piccolos and a fife, four flutes, and lots of violins. There was a string bass, what I thought was a contrabass clarinet, a piccolo trumpet, a marimba (and marimbist), several clarinets, a soprano saxophone, and a very familiar viola da gamba. Professor Dumbledore waved me over to the empty seat beside him, and Theron nodded at me as I took my seat. As Theron tried to get everyone's attention, Professor Dumbledore whispered to me, "Glad you could come, Minerva. We'll start off with a scale or two as an ensemble, and then we'll just run straight through the program. Handel's 'Water Music', and something relatively new by that nice young Gershwin fellow."  
  
I nodded as I opened my case and made ready to play. Theron said, "F concert scale, please, one octave, up and back, in half notes." He set the tempo with his free hand and then brought us in. After the first few notes, he let us play the rest of the scale on our own, making us listen to each other, making us play together. It was subtle, and very much like what I was finding Theron to be. I liked it - and him. I decided to take Aunt Alyce's advice and see Theron's little white lie as a compliment.  
  
The Dumbledore in question cut us off at the end of the scale and said, "All right, then. Let's open up the Handel and take it straight down. No stops."  
  
A querulous voice cried from the back, "I need a drink of water!"  
  
Aunt Alyce stalked in the room and thrust a mug in an old man's hand, despite the trombone slide the hand was occupied with. She put a look on the rest of the winds. "Do all of you have water?"  
  
They all nodded vigorously. I hid a smile.   
  
"All right, then." She took up a chair on the other side of the room.   
  
Theron said, "Er - thank you, Aunt Alyce. If you're ready…" He raised his arms, gave us the tempo, gave us a downbeat, and we were off.  
  
I was familiar with the piece, so that gave me the opportunity to study the players around me. Professor Dumbledore stared straight at his music with an air of concentration, oblivious to everything but his instrument, the sound of the ensemble, and Theron's baton. The principal violinist simply played. Because I was sitting on the front row, I couldn't see anyone else but Theron. And Theron? He was fully in sync with the orchestra, pulling in the various parts, using his beautiful hands to keep a strict time and yet keeping everything light and intense. He was an excellent conductor.   
  
I wondered at the orchestration. 'Water Music' was not precisely written for a flugelhorn, or recorders, or a marimba. I could only assume that the flugelhorn was playing the trumpet part and the recorders were alternately playing the oboe and bassoon parts, as was the soprano saxophone. As for the marimba, I thought it was echoing the string bass part. It was quite interesting.   
  
We finished the Handel and moved on to the Gershwin. It was a piece entitled "Rhapsody In Blue". I was not familiar with this piece, and I flipped through it as the marimbist put up his mallets and began to roll the grand piano in the corner in front of Theron's podium. Shaking his long blond hair out of the way, the marimbist propped up the top cover and opened up the keyboard. In a deep voice, he called out, "Anyone have a ribbon?"  
  
Aunt Alyce rose and gave him a delicate lilac ribbon that she pulled out of her pocket. She tied his hair back and said, "Good luck, Aelfric."  
  
Aelfric grinned at her and then looked up at Theron. "I'm ready when you are," he said.   
  
Theron nodded and brought up his hands once more. We all settled into our instruments, and Theron cued a young clarinetist, who immediately set up a huge wail that evolved into a rather catchy theme. And before I knew it, we were off on the most amazing symphonic ride I had ever taken. It was classical, but it had definite elements of the stuff that Muggles listened to - the music that they called jazz. It was incredibly beguiling, and not dull at all. Aelfric was a first-class pianist, and it was hard for me to remember to count measures because I was listening to him so closely. In the corner of my eye, I saw Professor Dumbledore watching Aelfric as well. All too soon, it ended in a flourished sforzando-piano with a beautiful crescendo, and I heard a crash of cymbals at the end.  
  
Theron brought down his arms with a grin, and Aunt Alyce immediately broke into wild applause. The members of the ensemble all looked horribly pleased with themselves, and Professor Dumbledore stood up. "After such a performance, we should reward ourselves with some cheesecake!"  
  
A minor stampede occurred, with the majority of the ensemble running out of the room. I stared after them. An interesting bunch.   
  
I felt a hand on my shoulder. When I turned around, I found that it belonged to Professor Dumbledore. I hugged him. "That was simply wonderful!" I exclaimed.  
  
His shoulders shook as he laughed with pleasure. "Wasn't it, though? Young Aelfric did a fantastic job. Gershwin would be pleased if he was here."   
  
Theron suddenly said, "Dad - can I talk to you?"  
  
Professor Dumbledore released me and turned to Theron, raising an eyebrow at the look on Theron's face. Theron glanced at me, and I knew what the subject was to be. Professor Dumbledore said, "Of course, Theron."  
  
Other than the three of us, there was no one left in the ballroom. All the same, Theron said, "Let's go out on the terrace. Minerva - you, too."  
  
We went out the French doors - turquoise - at one end of the hall onto an Italian-style terrace. The night was cold, and I wrapped my arms around myself.  
  
Theron faced his father. "Dad - Iona Westhaven - "  
  
The moonlight shone on Professor Dumbledore's suddenly grave face. "What about her?"  
  
Theron passed a hand over his eyes. "She was found last night. I worked with her today."  
  
I saw Professor Dumbledore clench his fists. "And?"  
  
Theron looked at the rough-hewn flagstones at his feet. "She…isn't coherent. Hex marks. The whole bit."  
  
Professor Dumbledore sank down on the stone wall beside him, head in his hands. Theron was beside him in a flash. I sat on his other side, unsure what to do. And then Professor Dumbledore would do something that I would remember for the rest of my life, especially considering the events to come: he said, "I must go after him."  
  
Theron said, alarmed, "Dad! Don't be insane! He's too well hidden - too powerful - wait for him to make a mistake, and then the Ministry will get him."  
  
Professor Dumbledore immediately leaped up and faced Theron, those usually placid blue eyes blazing. "How many more children must be taken before you realize that Grindelwald must be stopped at all costs?"  
  
"Dad - "  
  
"Do you think that this is something to be trifled with? A mere petty thief to be watched and waited on until he is caught red-handed? He is decimating the future of the wizarding world. How long before he finds out how to get through the Hogwarts defenses? How long before he takes another? How long before I - before I - "  
  
Theron picked up his slowing sentence quietly. "Before you make another mistake, Dad?"  
  
Professor Dumbledore fell silent.  
  
"Dad, this isn't your fault. You had no way of knowing that Iona would be taken. Her mother was sick. What were you supposed to do, keep Iona from her mother? You couldn't. You did what you were supposed to do. Grindlewald - Grindlewald just interfered. It's not your fault." Theron fixed his father with an intense, searching look. "It's not your fault."  
  
Professor Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly, then gathered Theron to him in a tight embrace. Theron hugged his father just as tightly. I slipped inside in order to give them some time alone.   
  
I put my viola in its case and brought it over to Aunt Alyce's armchair, where I curled up and began to think.   
  
The way that Professor Dumbledore had gone from euphoria from the music to such a grieving guilt was disturbing. I wished, for his sake, that we could play "Rhapsody In Blue" one more time.  
  
Thinking about our last piece made me think about Theron. He was good with people. He worked with people every day who needed help, and he gave of himself without question, as he had given himself to the orchestra tonight. As he was giving to his father right now.   
  
Living in such parlous times as these made everyone treasure their families and friends more. The shadow of Grindelwald's atrocities had fallen on most of the wizarding world, and people closed in on their own circle of family. Theron was one of those rare people who had fallen under the shadow and still managed to let people in.   
  
To let me in.  
  
At least, that was what I assumed that he was trying to do. Why else would he have tried to deceive me in order to get me to come visit the Dumbledore family? I needed to talk with Medea. I needed…  
  
The euphoria wore off; the concern and grief wore off as well. I was just tired.  
  
I saw Theron's cloak on the ottoman; he must have put it there before assuming the podium. It was cold in the ballroom. I threw it over me, rested my head on one of the soft wings of the chair, and went to sleep. 


	3. Part 3

Ay, now the plot thickens very much upon us.  
-George Villiers  
  
I came into a half-state of sleep – I was aware of things, but I was not quite awake. I was aware that someone was looking at me, but I did not open my eyes.  
  
Soon, I felt a hand touch my hair tentatively. When I still did not fully awaken, the hand became bolder and ran its fingers down the length of my hair. I heard Theron whisper, "Black silk."  
  
I did not open my eyes – if I did, I would embarrass him, to say nothing of myself.  
  
After a moment, he cleared his throat, rested a hand on my shoulder, and said quietly, "Minerva."  
  
I slowly blinked. Theron said, "Everyone has left, and Dad's going back to Hogwarts now. Would you like to join us?"  
  
I sat up in the chair. "Us?"  
  
"I'm accompanying him."  
  
"I'd love to," I said. I hadn't been back to Hogwarts since I had finished school, and it felt odd not being there in December.  
  
"I'll fetch your cloak," he said. "We'll meet by the front door." He left the ballroom. I got up, stretched, and left the house.  
  
Professor Dumbledore was sitting on the front steps. I sat beside him. We did not speak. I fell into thought and was startled out of my ruminations by a deep sigh from Professor Dumbledore.  
  
"Minerva," he said. "I do believe that this was not my fault."  
  
I nodded.  
  
"That does not keep me from being upset. Miss Westhaven was – is – one of the brightest first-years that it has been my privilege to teach. She had a heart of gold – to be honest, from everything I'd heard, I was rather surprised that she wasn't Sorted into Gryffindor."  
  
"Mmm," I said, for lack of anything else.  
  
"I can't shake the feeling that Grindlewald is going to try to break into Hogwarts. I know it sounds like the deluded ramblings of a tired man, but I can't get rid of it. There are rumblings in the Slytherins. I'm trying to read the writing on the wall, but what with teaching and listening to everyone and trying to keep the school running – to put it mildly, Minerva, it's difficult. And, as you know, I have never been one to ignore my instincts. Miss Westhaven is another clue – she was snatched as soon as she left school grounds, for one thing – but I can't act on my suspicions until I get something more definite. I have no evidence that I can do something with – and how much time will it be before anything happens?" He sighed again.  
  
The door opened behind us and we jumped. Theron's voice said, "There you two are." He handed me my cloak and my viola.  
  
I got up and put my cloak on. Professor Dumbledore stood as well. "Shall we be off, then?"  
  
We set off, walking a little distance from the house. I knew where I was going this time.  
  
"Now," said Professor Dumbledore, and we Apparated to the head of the path leading up to Hogwarts.  
  
The fifteen-minute walk up to the school was silent. They flanked me; I simply walked. I did not like having an honor guard. It was not a comfortable silence in the least. Too many thoughts were tumbling about in my head for me to think clearly. I was very aware of Theron's darkly quiet presence and Professor Dumbledore's now dimmed light beside me.  
  
It wasn't right. None of it. Professor Dumbledore shouldn't be upset. Theron shouldn't be dark. Iona Westhaven shouldn't be cowering in a corner at St. Mungo's. My father shouldn't be in bed every day, grimacing every time he moved. Hundreds of families shouldn't be missing their children. All this was because of Grindlewald. Senseless maiming and hurting and cruelty. I hated him. I hated Theron and Professor Dumbledore. I hated myself. I hated –  
  
And then we came in sight of Hogwarts. It was a dark castle, but it was a citadel of light. There was the Quidditch pitch and the astronomy tower and the greenhouses and the gamekeeper's hut. There were all the comfortable and secure things that had helped define who I was. I took a deep breath, letting the cold, clear air of home fill my lungs. I was home, and it felt good. The hatred was still there, but it was pushed back, lessened. For a fleeting moment, I was sure that I was back, a seventh-year, Head Girl. I caught myself walking a bit taller, as I had done when on duty as a prefect. I laughed softly as we entered the school, and Theron looked at me sharply. I only smiled. And – wonder of wonders – I once more caught Professor Dumbledore smiling into his moustache. He knew that I was happy to be home.  
  
We wove our way through the corridors until we came to a painting where a girl was stretched out asleep on the floor of a pavilion. Professor Dumbledore knocked on the frame and called softly, "Celeste."  
  
The girl stretched, yawned, and smiled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "Evening, Professor."  
  
Professor Dumbledore smiled. "It is an evening, isn't it? Lemon drop!"  
  
The portrait swung open, and we stepped into his office. He lit the fire and said, "I'll just make the hot chocolate, then."  
  
Theron started, "Dad, I really can't stay – " but was cut off by Headmaster Dippet's bulbous head appearing in the recently lit fireplace.  
  
"Albus, thank heavens you're back! There's been another strike!"  
  
Professor Dumbledore said urgently, "Where?"  
  
"Diagon Alley – right outside Flourish and Blotts."  
  
I gasped. Theron put out a hand to steady me, knowing that I lived above Flourish and Blotts.  
  
Professor Dumbledore glanced at me and said, "Was anyone taken?"  
  
"A ten-year-old walking home from Florean Fortescue's for an evening sundae. His parents have not yet been located."  
  
I relaxed, but only slightly. Medea was safe.   
  
Headmaster Dippet continued, "Ministry officials are all over the place. They'll take care of it. Thought you might want to know." Now that his dreadful news had been delivered, he seemed to calm down. "Good night, Albus." And his head disappeared.  
  
Professor Dumbledore turned to me soberly. "Well, Minerva, I don't suppose you should go home tonight."  
  
With horror, I felt tears begin to sting my eyes. I bowed my head. "I suppose not."  
  
Professor Dumbledore said, "I'm sure you can stay here in the visitor's rooms."  
  
Not Gryffindor Tower. Not any more. I didn't have any right to claim Hogwarts as my home any more. I bit my lower lip fiercely, willing the tears away. "I – that's fine."  
  
Theron, who had been looking at me with something akin to pity, but nicer, for the last thirty seconds, swept me into a hug. Strong, wiry arms enfolded me in a comforting embrace, and I couldn't keep from crying any more. I was embarrassed, but some tides simply couldn't be kept back, and I let myself go.  
  
Behind me, I heard Professor Dumbledore say quietly, "Theron, I'll go see to Minerva's quarters." The portrait opened and closed, and we were alone.   
  
I felt his hand smooth my hair. "Shh. You're fine and your sister is fine. It'll be okay."  
  
"My sister – " I broke away from him, and his hands tumbled to his sides like so much driftwood. "I have to get word to Medea."  
  
Theron said calmly, "I wouldn't be surprised if Dad is taking care of that as well as your room. If he hasn't, we'll ask him how best to go about it when he returns." Almost shyly, he reached out and brushed a wayward teardrop off my cheek with his thumb.  
  
Casting inhibition to the winds, I stepped forward and held onto Theron, resting my cheek on his chest. I felt him stiffen, and I almost pulled away. However, his arms settled about me, fingers lightly lacing in my hair. I relaxed. I listened to his heart beating steadily. Things would be all right. After a moment of quiet bliss, I whispered, "Thank you."  
  
When he replied, his chest rumbled pleasantly. "For what?"  
  
"For – for making things better."  
  
He tipped my face up to his and looked at me searchingly with those almost scarily brilliant blue eyes. I did not flinch. And then his eyes softened, and he leaned forward and kissed my forehead.  
  
And that was that. I fell hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Theron Dumbledore. For better or for worse – hopefully for better. Bad things might happen, I might lose everything that I thought was important, but I knew that from that point on, as long as I had Theron, things would be all right.  
  
The portrait clicked open, and we broke apart. I turned to see Professor Dumbledore climb through the hole, followed closely by my brother Maimonides, pyjama- and dressing gown-clad – with his prefect's badge. He immediately embraced me in a stiff, brotherly fashion – as he no doubt thought was necessary in front of a teacher. I hid a smile. "Minerva, I'm glad to see that you're well. Professor Dumbledore tells me that you'll be staying here the night?" He sounded like an officious old bat from the Ministry.   
  
I grinned and ruffled his hair, knowing that it would infuriate him – and get him to lose the façade. "Quite right." I looked at Professor Dumbledore, silently asking if he had told Maimonides the reason why I was staying, and he nodded, telling me that it was okay for me to mention it. "There was an attack in front of Flourish and Blotts, and Ministry officials are crawling all over the place. I doubt I could even get near the stairs up to the flat. I'll be here until tomorrow."  
  
Professor Dumbledore said, "I've given Maimonides permission to stay with you tonight. And Minerva, if you don't mind – I know that this is a lot to ask – but I've got a load of first- and second-years tomorrow, and you know as many tricks as I do, if not more. I really have no idea what I'm going to do for tomorrow's lesson, and I'd appreciate it if you could show off a bit."  
  
Maimonides had apparently gotten over his prefect-ness, and he piped up, "She'll do it – she never misses a chance to show off!"  
  
I glared at him, and he grinned at me. Professor Dumbledore smiled into his moustache again, and Theron looked at the ceiling, trying to hide a smile and failing. I said with a certain measure of control, "I'd be more than happy to, Professor."  
  
Professor Dumbledore said, "Excellent, Minerva. I am most indebted to you. By the by, Maimonides has Transfiguration tomorrow, and I'm sure he won't mind serving as your, er, test subject."  
  
My dear brother's face fell, and I grinned diabolically at him. "Of course he won't."  
  
Theron coughed. "It's rather late, Dad, I think I'd better be off."   
  
Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Good night, Theron. Oh, by the way – Maimonides McGonagall, prefect – " – I saw my brother straighten up just as I had – "this is Theron Dumbledore, researcher at St. Mungo's. He also happens to be my son."   
  
Theron shook Maimonides's hand gravely. "A pleasure."  
  
"Likewise," my brother said, doing his best to appear on par with the – quite handsome! – figure that Theron cut.   
  
Theron looked at me. "Minerva, I'll be in touch." I nodded. –He'd be in touch!   
  
And he hugged his father, and he was gone. I couldn't stop a sigh from escaping me, and Professor Dumbledore looked at me, eyes gentle. "All right, then. I'll escort the two of you to the visitor's rooms."  
  
Out of the portrait, down the corridors, up a few flights of stairs, down other flights of stairs, and we came to an oaken door that Professor Dumbledore unlocked. As soon as he went inside, the lamps came on, and we were treated to a beautiful sight. Thick red Persian carpets covered the floor, and the walls were covered with tapestries that I thought showed the lives of the Founders. There was a large fireplace next to one wall with big, overstuffed red paisley chairs and ottomans, and a chess set in the middle of the room. Two doors led off to what I presumed were the bedchambers.  
  
Professor Dumbledore said, "Maimonides has informed me that he's quite good about waking up in time for breakfast, and since there's not much time left before then, I suggest the two of you get some sleep. Is there anything else you need?"  
  
We shook our heads.  
  
He smiled. "I think I must bid you adieu then – or rather, a demain." He left the rooms, and we looked at each other.  
  
Maimonides said, "Minerva, what's going on?" He had gotten quite serious, and he actually looked concerned.  
  
I sighed. "I don't know. All I know is that Grindlewald took a ten-year-old outside of Flourish and Blotts, and it's not a good idea for me to go home tonight."  
  
"No – I mean how did you end up here? And why was Professor Dumbledore's son here – and what did he mean, he'd 'keep in touch'?" His brow furrowed. I sighed again.  
  
"Maimonides, this will take a while…"  
  
He looked stubborn. "I've got time."  
  
I settled myself in one of the armchairs, as did he. "Medea and I had a concert about a week ago."  
  
He nodded. "I listened to it on the radio in Professor Dumbledore's office – he didn't think that I should go."  
  
"Right. But he went – you know how he likes chamber music – and he brought Theron. We went out for a drink afterwards, and Theron invited me to play with the Dumbledore family orchestra tonight. I did, and Theron and I came to Hogwarts with Professor Dumbledore, and Headmaster Dippet told Professor Dumbledore about the – about the attack, and Professor Dumbledore said that I shouldn't go home and I could stay here," I finished in a breathless rush.   
  
He looked at me shrewdly. "And you and Theron…are…seeing each other?"  
  
I glowered at him. "I don't see as it's any of your business."  
  
"Oh, so you are seeing each other!"  
  
"No! We haven't even been on a proper date yet!"  
  
"But…?"  
  
I sighed. I didn't exactly feel like discussing this with my younger brother, but I wouldn't see Medea tonight, and whom else would I talk to about it? Professor Dumbledore? Hardly. "But he did something rather odd that makes me think that he might have some interest."  
  
"What did he do?"  
  
I told him all about "Uncle Angus". He laughed. "Rather odd. Were you offended?"  
  
"A bit hurt at first, but I decided to take it as a compliment."  
  
"It sounds like something I'd do for – " He cut himself off just in time.  
  
"For who?"  
  
"No one."  
  
"Maimonides, I told you about Theron."  
  
"You won't tell Mother and Father?"  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"Well – her name is Demetria Howard, and she's a Slytherin prefect."  
  
I raised an eyebrow.  
  
"She's not one of the bad ones, though," he said hastily.   
  
"One of the bad ones?"  
  
"The cutthroats. The ones who talk about Grindlewald all the time."  
  
Rumblings in the Slytherins, Professor Dumbledore had said. An idea started to formulate in my head.  
  
"Demetria's okay, she really is." He leaned forward anxiously. "You won't tell Mother and Father?"  
  
I understood why he didn't want them to know. Since Grindlewald had hurt Father, they had been slightly less tolerant of anyone associated with Slytherin House. I thought that they were being ridiculous. I would not tell. "Of course not. But you might as well do me a favor." Nothing like a little sibling pressure.  
  
His face became wary. "What?"  
  
I thought fast. "You said that some of the Slytherins talk about Grindlewald all the time?"  
  
He nodded. "Right bores, they are. Preaching all the time about how Grindlewald is going to set up a new empire – that a few brats is a mild price to pay – "   
  
I cut him off. "Does Professor Dumbledore know about this?"  
  
He thought briefly. "I don't think so."  
  
"All right. If you haven't been going for hot chocolate with him, start. Tell him everything you see, everything you hear. See what you can get out of Demetria. Keep a low profile."  
  
Maimonides looked startled. "All right, Minerva. Is there something else going on?"  
  
I heard Professor Dumbledore's voice in my mind. I'm trying to read the writing on the wall…I have never been one to ignore my instincts…  
  
"There might be," I said finally. "If there is, I can't talk about it, and it's dangerous. Remember what I said: keep a low profile. If the…something…that might be going on is going on, you'll be valuable – and you're my baby brother." I grinned at him. He made a horrible face at me that was cut short by an earsplitting yawn. "And I think that it's time for bed."  
  
We stood up, and, much to my surprise, he came over and hugged me. I smiled. Maimonides and I had always been close.  
  
We went to our separate rooms. The bed looked exactly like the ones in Gryffindor Tower, with heavy red velvet curtains. When I pulled the curtains back, I found a nest of pillows – just like Gryffindor Tower. I smiled. I had no doubt that Professor Dumbledore had put me in this room for a reason.  
  
On top of the pillows, there rested a puffy-sleeved, voluminous white cotton nightdress – much like the ones that I had worn at school and still wore. I slipped into it. I pulled down the coverlet and slid into bed, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly.  
  
I was home. And it felt good.  
  
I fell asleep very shortly thereafter. 


	4. Part 4

I see some light in the darkness, but it may possibly flicker out.  
  
-Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, "The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans"  
  
December 7, 1944:  
  
I watched the last class of the day – Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first-years – as they filed into the room. Professor Dumbledore sat on top of his desk with a daisy behind his ear, and I stood beside him. I wondered briefly if he would tell them about Iona Westhaven, or if he would pass that information on to Professor Flitwick to share with his House. There was a very conspicuously empty seat on the left side of the room next to a pale- faced little girl with pigtails wearing a Ravenclaw tie. Professor Dumbledore caught my eye and his mouth quirked in a sad smile. He murmured, "Yes, that's Miss Westhaven's seat – and her seatmate." I nodded.  
  
As the students settled down, giving me surreptitious curious glances, Professor Dumbledore stood up and said, "All right, then. I'm sure that you will be pleased to know that I had nothing planned for today's lesson." There were smiles. "However." The smiles changed to frowns. "Oh, quit that – you won't be doing any work today, unless, of course, Miss McGonagall here requires your assistance." They looked quizzical, and I smiled. "Students, this is Miss Minerva McGonagall, a member of last year's seventh form. As I said, I had nothing planned for today's lesson, and she has kindly agreed to come in and…er, well, you'll see. Miss McGonagall?"  
  
"Thank you," I said, turning and facing the students. "You've been taking notes on theory, correct?"  
  
Heads nodded.  
  
I smiled. "You haven't been doing much Transfiguration at all?"  
  
Heads shook back and forth.  
  
I held out my hand to Professor Dumbledore, who had reassumed his perch upon his desk. He handed me the daisy tucked behind his ear. I said, "You've been over Meteyard's Five Principles?"  
  
Heads nodded.  
  
"Then you can tell me…" I took out my wand and promptly changed the daisy into a jonquil. "…which principle was just used here?"  
  
Hands rose. I handed the jonquil to Professor Dumbledore, who stuck it back behind his ear, and pointed at a Hufflepuff boy on the right side of the room. "You, there – tell me your name."  
  
"Peter O'Donovan, miss."  
  
"All right, Mr. O'Donovan. Which of Meteyard's Five Principles is it?"  
  
"The Fourth, miss."  
  
I nodded. "Very good, Mr. O'Donovan."  
  
Professor Dumbledore added, "Take five points for Hufflepuff, Peter. Well done."  
  
I handled the rest of the class in the same way, making it a review session – but a fun one. I changed inkwells into pots of honey with spoons. I changed House ties into glittery polka-dotted bow ties and back again. Points were handed out right and left – they were smart students. I thoroughly enjoyed working with them. And at the end of the class, with Professor Dumbledore's permission, I changed everyone's quill into a sugar quill. The students left happily, sucking on their quills. Or rather, most of them left happy. Iona Westhaven's seatmate hung behind, slowly putting her things into her satchel. Professor Dumbledore said softly, "Adele."  
  
She looked at him unhappily. "Yes, sir?"  
  
He looked at her for a moment. I could see him trying to decide whether or not to tell her about Iona. In the end, he said, "Can you come see me in my office tonight at eight?"  
  
Adele nodded.  
  
"We'll have some hot chocolate, and perhaps a game of chess." He smiled, and she tried to return it. "I'll see you tonight."  
  
She left.  
  
He sighed. "Poor child. Her grades have slipped since Miss Westhaven was – taken, and nobody knows quite what to do with her. I don't want to tell her about Iona's current condition until Theron has determined if anything can be done for her, but that will take a while, and she usually asks Filius every day if there's any news."  
  
"At least you're trying to do something for her," I said. "I didn't see anyone else in the class speak to her the entire lesson."  
  
"Iona was her best – and only, I think – friend. It's difficult to watch her stay in the shadows all day, but when I try to draw her out in public, she only shrinks back further."  
  
"I noticed that when I called on her."  
  
"Yes. And, Minerva, you were absolutely marvelous today in class. Have you ever considered a teaching career?"  
  
"Me?" I was flabbergasted. "Well…no."  
  
"Would you?" He sounded serious.  
  
I paused. Teaching class today had been a lot of fun. Who knew? "I'm not sure. I might."  
  
"You should."  
  
Teaching. Me. It wasn't so impossible as I had first thought.  
  
Professor Dumbledore hopped off of his desk. "Well, Minerva, I have some things to attend to…shall we find out if your area of Diagon Alley is clear?"  
  
I nodded. That reminded me. I still had yet to tell him about what Maimonides and I had spoken about last night. "And I need to talk to you – somewhere where we can't be heard."  
  
He raised an eyebrow at me. "All right. We'll go to my office."  
  
We went down the hall, into the portrait, and sat in the armchairs, just like we had when I was still Head Girl. I began, "Did you know that Maimonides is seeing one of the Slytherin prefects?"  
  
Professor Dumbledore looked surprised. "No, I did not."  
  
"You said that there were rumblings in the Slytherins."  
  
He nodded.  
  
"Maimonides also said that many of the Slytherins were advocating Grindlewald, and Demetria – the girl he's seeing – was not one of them. I took the liberty of advising him to come to you with any…information…that he may glean."  
  
Professor Dumbledore said, "Excellent, Minerva. You did tell him to be discreet?"  
  
"Oh, yes. And threatened him within an inch of his life if he takes any unnecessary risks."  
  
He smiled at me. "Minerva, that takes a load off of my mind. I had wondered if there were any information resources left to me, and I must admit that young Maimonides did not occur to me. However, I think that he will be a valuable ally – and you may tell him that I said so."  
  
I nodded, feeling pleased. It was as though I was right back at home, having another weekly meeting with Professor Dumbledore, reporting the week's events, finding out what I could do to help. It was nice.  
  
He stood up and went to a small ball sitting on his desk. Tapping it, he said clearly, "Flourish and Blotts, Diagon Alley!"  
  
Blue mist swirled in the ball and cleared, and it showed the area outside the bookstore. It looked like a normal business day. Professor Dumbledore said, "It looks like all is clear."  
  
"I'll be off, then."  
  
He hugged me. "Minerva, it's been a pleasure working with you – both as an orchestra member and as a fellow teacher. Are you sure you won't stay for dinner?"  
  
"Quite sure."  
  
"Then do an old friend a favor and be careful as you leave. Don't tarry in Hogsmeade – Apparate home quickly."  
  
I nodded. "I will."  
  
He saw me to the door of the castle and stood watching me as I went down the path. I felt his gaze warm and solid on my back, wishing me well as I went back out into the world. And then the path twisted, and I knew that he couldn't see me any more.  
  
I walked briskly down the dark way – it was December, after all, and the sun went down early. I made good time down the trail, and I was soon at the Apparition point.  
  
As I prepared to leave, a hunchbacked old woman approached me. "Alms?" she croaked.  
  
I shook my head. "Sorry," I said.  
  
It crossed my mind briefly that it was rather odd to see a beggar on the town's outskirts as opposed to on the main streets –  
  
And as she got a bit too close to me for comfort, I remembered how Iona Westhaven was taken, and I began to back away.  
  
And the old woman's face changed into something hideous, a malignant mass of horny growths and horrible sharp, yellow teeth, and the monstrous mouth twisted up into a sinister grin that made my spine tingle with fright, and Grindlewald reached out with a scabrous, crooked hand –  
  
And all I thought about were blue paisley swirls, blue Dumbledore eyes and soft, neat black hair and the way he handled his conductor's baton like a wand, and I pulled out my own wand and shrieked, "Expelliarmus!"  
  
It didn't have much effect, but as he stumbled briefly, I realized that I had given myself a bit of time. I Disapparated without any thought as to my destination. I only had time to think, "Merlin, don't let me get splinched –"  
  
I stumbled and caught myself on the rail of a gurney. White walls. Gray tile. Nasty, medicinal lights.  
  
And Theron standing at the end of the hall in a white over-robe, looking down at the contents of a clipboard.  
  
I managed to gasp his name before my absolute terror made my knees refuse to hold up the rest of my body. I saw him look up. His face widened in recognition and horror, and then he was there, kneeling in front of me. "Minerva –"  
  
"It was him," I could only say. "It was him."  
  
"Who?"  
  
I would not let myself stammer. I would not. I took a deep breath. "Grindlewald."  
  
"What?" He seized my shoulders.  
  
"He was waiting outside Hogwarts in the guise of an old beggar woman. When I was preparing to leave, he approached me. I Stunned him, but it didn't do much, and then I just Disapparated. I didn't know where."  
  
"Well, you're certainly safe here." He hugged me, and I felt my fright grow less. "It's a good thing you didn't get splinched." He pulled me a bit closer and rested his chin on the top of my head. I let out a shaky breath that I didn't even know that I had been holding, and he said, "It's over now. Dad –" His voice cut off and he let go of me abruptly. "We have to talk to Dad. Come on – I'll take you to my office."  
  
Theron led me – by the hand – down the hall. We twisted and turned through assorted corridors until we finally arrived at a small door. He unlocked it, and we went in.  
  
Two creaky folding chairs greeted us, as well as half of the books that covered all four walls of the room that was no bigger than a walk-in closet. He rummaged around in his neatly-ordered desk until he found a tin canister. "Light a fire, please," he said while opening it. I did so. He threw a handful of powder into the small grate and said, "Professor Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts." We had a brief wait, and then Professor Dumbledore's head appeared in the fire. Theron said, "Hello, Dad."  
  
Professor Dumbledore looked around Theron's office and saw me. "Minerva! You're not at home…" And then he looked at my face, and back at Theron, and he said quietly, "What happened?"  
  
Theron came and stood behind me as I told Professor Dumbledore everything that happened. His disembodied head nodded and looked progressively grimmer with every word I said. When I was finished, he said, "So we can assume that he's lying in wait for people to come and go from Hogwarts."  
  
Theron broke in, "Dad, there's something else. Iona Westhaven – talked."  
  
"Talked?"  
  
"We put her into a catatonic-type state – she would have…harmed herself otherwise. We'll be looking at reconstruction in a few weeks…but that's beside the point. I was sitting with her today, and she sat up, grabbed my arm, and said, 'He says he's going to break into Hogwarts. Protect Adele.' And then she curled up again, and she hasn't said anything else all day."  
  
Adele. That was the little girl who had been Iona's best friend.  
  
"He's going to break in," Professor Dumbledore repeated heavily. "All right. All right. Theron, I need to organize a faculty meeting. See Minerva home. And Minerva –" he looked at me. "Minerva, please be careful."  
  
I was suddenly scared all over again. "I will."  
  
He nodded wearily. "Take care, you two." And then he was gone.  
  
I looked up at Theron, who was staring at the suddenly dark fireplace. "He's going to break in?"  
  
"That's what she said. Do you know who Adele is?"  
  
"She was part of one of the classes I taught today. She's Iona's best friend, and she isn't taking Iona's…absence…very well."  
  
Theron sighed. "Bloody hell." And then he seemed to remember whom he was talking to, and he said, "Minerva, I'm sorry –"  
  
I waved a hand. "It's not like I haven't heard it before, and it's quite an apt occasion." But I only got as far as the fourth word, as he was kissing me quite soundly after that.  
  
Medea had talked to me a great deal about precisely what you were supposed to do when a boy kissed you – another thing that older sisters were useful for. As long as I knew what to do, I would be all right.  
  
But before I could remember what it was exactly that I needed to do, he pulled away from me, looking down at me with very amused eyes.  
  
"What?" I asked, figuring that I had done something wrong.  
  
"You're thinking about what it is you're supposed to be doing, aren't you?"  
  
Oh, my. "Well…"  
  
"And your older sister told you all about it, right?"  
  
This was frightening. "Yes."  
  
"And you were trying to remember what to do because you figured you'd never use what she told you, and so you forgot about it, yes?"  
  
I couldn't help but blush. "Yes."  
  
"Well," said Theron. "I have one piece of advice for you…"  
  
A boy giving a girl kissing advice? There seemed something odd about it, but if he knew what I was thinking, then it was probably all right. "What?"  
  
"Relax and try to enjoy it." He smiled down at me, and then opened the door. "An odd time to kiss you, anyway. I'm off duty now. Come on, I'll take you home."  
  
We did not touch as we left the hospital and moved through the various alleys that would take us to Diagon Alley. However, we did talk.  
  
I dodged a rubbish bin. "Maimonides is involved with a Slytherin prefect."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"And he's going to be passing information to Professor Dumbledore."  
  
"Even better."  
  
I glared at him. He said, "I mean it. We could use information like his. He knows to be discreet?"  
  
I nodded. "Very discreet. And he's a prefect –"  
  
Theron said wryly, "I noticed."  
  
" – so nothing will look out of the ordinary."  
  
"You McGonagalls impress me more and more every day."  
  
"We're just chock-full of surprises."  
  
Suddenly, Theron pulled me into a doorway and thrust me behind him. "Quiet!" he hissed. I looked up at him, astonished, but he shook his head.  
  
Outside on the street, there passed a tall, blond man with an odd little moustache. He seemed to consider himself very important, and he looked familiar…perhaps my parents had told me about him? An entourage of simpering little men and one or two dejected-looking house-elves followed him. As he passed, Theron's grip on my arm tightened. And then he was gone, and Theron stuck his head out of the doorway like a hare checking to see if the fox had left the entrance to his warren. He breathed a sigh of relief. "He's gone."  
  
I didn't say anything, although I was curious. However, as we hurried along the streets – Theron seemed to want to get me home as fast as possible – he explained.  
  
"That was Andronicus Malfoy."  
  
Now I knew the name. I had seen a picture of him shaking hands with the Minister of Magic in the Daily Prophet. "He's on the board at St. Mungo's."  
  
"That's him. And he's taking a great interest in my work, especially with Iona Westhaven, and it's not exactly a friendly interest. I trust him about as far as I could throw Aelfric's piano. I would rather not run into him, especially when I'm with you."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"As I said, it's not a friendly interest. You're a valuable ally, as well as – " He stopped short. "I'd just rather not place you in any more danger than you're already in."  
  
What had he been going to say? "Would you mind telling me what sort of danger it is that I'm in?"  
  
We had arrived outside Flourish and Blotts. He glanced around the busy street. "I can't exactly say in public."  
  
"Then come upstairs."  
  
"I'm not sure if that's wise."  
  
This was getting ridiculous. I faced him and said in as sweet a voice as I could muster, "Theron. If I am uninformed, I cannot defend myself. And there will be times when no one is around to protect me but myself. If I don't know what 'danger' it is that is threatening me, then I don't know what to look for. These past two days have been extraordinarily stressful, and if you're not going to give me answers to my questions, then I think it would be best if I simply – if I simply did not see you any more." That last part hurt, but I felt it was necessary.  
  
He blanched, and then his brow lowered. He looked angry. And his cloak whirled about him as he turned on his heel and headed up the stairs. I took that to mean that he would talk, and I followed him.  
  
He was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. "Door's locked," he said bluntly.  
  
"Of course it is." I wanted to ask him if he really thought me that much of a fool, but I decided that that would be pushing it. Instead, I simply unlocked the door and went in. "Sit down."  
  
He sat.  
  
I took the seat next to him on the 'divan'. "Talk."  
  
He stared at me for a minute, looking tortured. Then he shook his head. "Ask me a question."  
  
"What sort of danger are you talking about?"  
  
"Grindlewald is not simply arbitrarily taking children."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You've noticed that he's never taken a Slytherin."  
  
I hadn't, but I would pretend that I had. "Yes."  
  
"There's a reason for that. Slytherin parents are paying off Andronicus Malfoy, who is in turn supplying Grindlewald with whatever resources he needs to take those children and keep them from becoming fully functional witches and wizards."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It all comes down to the same thing – purity of bloodline. Malfoy is obsessed with eliminating 'non-pure' witches and wizards. Grindlewald is simply bloodthirsty. He needs someone to arrange the necessities for him – finding him the necessary space to work, helping find 'test subjects'. Andronicus Malfoy is a bigot, but he is a very rich bigot. And money talks."  
  
"What does that have to do with you?"  
  
"My team, of which I am the leader, is making more and more headway every day with the children that we've recovered. We've found a way to reconstruct pathways in the mind that, once opened, will give us information about Grindlewald's whereabouts. Those reconstructed corridors will also restore a sense of sanity, thus making it possible to proceed with normal therapy. The last thing that Andronicus Malfoy wants is for us to help these children. He can change Grindlewald's location, but if we restore these children to some sense of normalcy, the whole operation will have been a financial and social loss for him, which is something that he wants to avoid at all costs. And so Malfoy is coming after me, because I am the leader of the team. I have had to be very careful about the ways I get home at night. No more Portkeys. No more broomsticks. There have been…threats. Against me as well as against Dad. And because you're associated with both of us now, instead of just with Dad, that puts you in danger – a bargaining chip, or something of that sort. You'd be quite useful to the Malfoy crowd as a hostage."  
  
My head was spinning. Theron was becoming more and more complicated all the time. "That explains why all the Slytherins have been talking about Grindlewald's new order."  
  
He mused, "That would make sense…their parents have told them that they are safe from Grindlewald, so they talk…and of course, Malfoy would have told Grindlewald that he'll be the head of whatever they put together when they succeed…"  
  
Something had been niggling at the back of my mind. I gave voice to it. "Theron…you are being careful?"  
  
He smiled bitterly. "They haven't gotten me yet."  
  
Yet. "Will they?"  
  
He did not answer me.  
  
I asked again, more urgently, "Will they?"  
  
When he still did not answer, I got up and stalked across the bare boards, letting loose a tirade of profanity that I thought I had left on the Quidditch field. This simply wasn't fair. Nobody ever knew about these things until it was too late. What was wrong with the world? Would people just sit back and let these things happen? And why did the Malfoy crowd have to pick on Theron? I loved him. They would get him. And there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it.  
  
I was raging. I went over to the wall, pulled back, and punched a hole in the boards. My knuckles stung, and I looked at my right hand in shock. Splinters stuck out of the back of it, and my fingers were scraped and bleeding. I stood there staring at my right hand, and I began to cry. Again.  
  
He had been watching me. Now he got up and took my damaged hand in his. "Let me see that." He inspected it carefully. "I don't think you've done any permanent damage." He led me to the kitchen area and slowly, gently, began to work the slivers of wood out of my skin.  
  
I stood there, not really feeling anything except the remnants of anger being replaced with a desperate sort of sadness. When he stuck my hand under running water from the sink, I jumped at the shock of the cold water. "Sorry," he murmured. He reached for his wand and said, "Resarcio." I watched the raw scrapes slowly turn into new, pink skin.  
  
He kissed my hand lightly and restored it to me. And then he enveloped me in one of those rare types of embraces that felt like a tent, where all one knew was the restful softness of the walls, and the only thing to be heard was a quiet, strong, rhythmic heartbeat.  
  
Then he began to speak.  
  
"Minerva, this is difficult for me to say. Mum is dead. She died the year before I went to school. Dad and I had a bachelor sort of household, and I still got to see him every day when I was at Hogwarts. We still had the family things at Weathervane. But we weren't really a family. Dad was too busy to drop in more than once a month, and I couldn't leave the school. I never really had close friends at Hogwarts. I was very much a loner. And other than Dad and the extended family I rarely saw, no one cared. And the feelings were reciprocated. That's why I didn't quit my job when Andronicus Malfoy began to make his threats. I didn't have anything to lose.  
  
"And then I met you. And I thought that for once, I might have something worth keeping. The last forty-eight hours have only strengthened that conviction.  
  
"Minerva, I wasn't going to worry about myself. I had decided that I would only stay in the game for the children. That once I finished my work, I would let the Malfoy crowd catch up with me and try and take out as many as I could when the time came. Let them have their revenge – but at a cost." He looked at me, trying to see if I was taking all of this in. I was. And it hurt.  
  
"I promise you now, Minerva, I'm going to be careful." He had a wistful smile. "Nobody's ever run their fist through a wall on account of me before. It's a new sensation – but I'll get used to it. Minerva, I…I love you."  
  
All thoughts of scientific diagrams showing where noses were supposed to go left my head as I reached up carefully and kissed him. 


	5. Part 5

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,  
  
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:  
  
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge  
  
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'  
  
-William Shakespeare, Henry V  
  
December 1944-January 1945  
  
Time passed quickly from there and was only marked by the few times I saw Theron. I did not meet him in public; he sent me an owl on Friday afternoons to formally ask me to walk with him on Sunday. On Sundays, we Apparated to a lonely mountain in north Wales. He always brought a rucksack of food, and we would munch as we walked and talked. As Christmas approached and snow began to fall, we instead Apparated to a cave on the Cornish coast. One of the last times we met in the cave, he asked me to bring my viola. I did, and I found him there with a battered cello and sheet music. We played; it was heartrendingly depressing stuff. I had seen in the Daily Prophet that six children had been found that week, each more broken and ravaged than the previous one found. When the piece ended, Theron sat back hollowly on his rock, eyes glittering. I got up, rested his cello gently on its side, and held him for a long time with the endless surf pounding away at our ears.  
  
On the other six days of the week, I rarely left the building that housed my flat and Flourish and Blotts. Medea did all the grocery shopping, and I always did all my present-buying at Flourish – the employee discount fit my budget.  
  
Christmas came and went. I ventured out of the flat with Medea to have dinner with my parents. My father had returned to work, but in a different capacity: he had abandoned his old position as a Hit Wizard and was now training to be an Auror. All he could talk about were the intrigues and dark clouds that surrounded the oldest of the "pure-blood" families, especially the Malfoys. As I had not forgotten what Theron had told me about Andronicus Malfoy – how could I forget? – I had no desire to listen to it for an instant longer than necessary. My parents had changed, or I had changed, and as Maimonides was at school for the holidays on Professor Dumbledore's request, I was very glad when Medea ushered me out of their house, knowing that I was about to explode. She had been shocked when I had told her about everything, but not surprised; there weren't many people in the wizarding world that didn't know that the Malfoys had been involved in dark magic for years.  
  
Theron had told me that Hogwarts was in virtual lockdown: no one could enter or leave except by one fireplace that was constantly guarded by surly goblins. Prefects and teachers walked all students to and from classes. When the students who went home for Christmas left the school, Hit Wizards came and flanked the path to the train station, with two wizards to every compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Professor Dumbledore was not happy about having the Hit Wizards there, but he let it go – in my mind's eye, I could see his face darken as he thought about what had happened to Iona Westhaven and what had almost happened to me.  
  
I was very careful to only send innocuous messages to Maimonides at school. As he was passing information to Professor Dumbledore, and I was now seeing Theron, I couldn't talk to him more than cursorily for fear that our correspondence might be overheard. It was rough – I usually wrote to Maimonides once a week, and I could tell that my letters were getting more and more vapid. If I could tell, he certainly could tell – and so could anyone else. I didn't think, though, that anyone had been monitoring our letters, but one never knew, especially these days.  
  
So time passed. I worked at Flourish during the day, hid in my flat at night, and escaped to meet Theron on Sundays. It became a regular routine – too regular. One day in the middle of January, I was feeling generally discontent. The weather was nasty, our flat was freezing, and I was recuperating from a rather nasty cold. It took all my self-control to keep myself from snapping at customers. Medea, stocking what we called the "robe- ripper" section – the one with all the novels with pictures of muscular young wizards with aptly placed (and quite thick) wands – pulled me over and told me to go take a break. I was slipping back to the stockroom when I caught sight of a very familiar cloak. A blue cloak with paisley swirls.  
  
I knew Flourish like the back of my hand – Theron was standing in the scientific research section. He had promised me that he would never come into Flourish unless there was an emergency. Hairs prickled on the back of my neck, and I went to do my job as salesgirl.  
  
I approached him and said, "Excuse me, sir, is there something I can help you with?"  
  
He was very careful not to show any signs of recognition – this was something that we had planned on in case something like this ever happened. "Well, miss, I was wondering if I could put this book on reserve – I'm afraid I left my wallet at home."  
  
"Of course, sir." I took the book he was holding from him, being sure to note the page that he had stuck his index finger in. "What name should I reserve it under?"  
  
"Thaddeus Drake," he said.  
  
"All right, Mr. Drake. Thank you."  
  
He bowed to me and left, cloak swirling about his calves as he strode down the aisles. I immediately went to the stockroom, ensured that I was alone, sat down, and opened the book to the page that Theron had had his finger on.  
  
He had slipped a note in there:  
  
M—  
  
I'll be waiting in your apartment after you get off work. I have some bad news.  
  
-T  
  
I stared at the note. I got off work in an hour, but business was slow today, and I could beg off, pretending that I was more ill than I actually was. I decided that that's what I would do, and I found Medea and told her something to that effect. She nodded, and I raced upstairs on the spiral staircase in the stockroom.  
  
I charged in through the kitchen and skidded to a stop in the front room. Theron was pacing around in front of the fireplace, and I noticed that he had pulled down all the shades on the windows. "Theron?" I couldn't see his face.  
  
He came over and hugged me tight, taking my breath away. I pulled back. "Theron?"  
  
His hand found mine, and he said, "Dad needs you at Hogwarts immediately."  
  
I felt a chill steal over me. "What's going on?"  
  
"Maimonides."  
  
The chill grew larger. "What about him?"  
  
"He's…ill."  
  
"Ill?"  
  
He said, "He's been poisoned with the same sort of stuff your father was hit with." Seeing my alarm, he quickly said, "He's out of danger."  
  
"But how…?"  
  
Theron said, "Grindlewald has breached the school. He managed to take a few second-years, but your brother put up a marvelous fight. He was walking the Gryffindor second-years to class when Grindlewald just popped out of a Bosch painting and started blasting. That corridor is apparently in very bad shape – scorch marks all over the place, portions of the wall down. Most of the second-years managed to escape because Maimonides held him off, but then Grindlewald hit him with the poison, and as he fell, Grindlewald snatched the last two." He shook his head, and I shuddered. "At any rate, Maimonides is asking for you, and Dad sent me to get you. He's already sent owls to your parents."  
  
I took a deep breath. I had to go. Maimonides needed me. "Let me get my cloak."  
  
Theron was already rummaging around by the mantle. "Where d'you keep your Floo powder?"  
  
I called from my bedroom, "It should be up there…a small tin dispatch-box…" I couldn't find my cloak, and as I emerged from my bedroom, Theron was already standing by the fire, dispatch-box in hand. "Can't find my cloak," I said, irritated.  
  
In a flash, Theron set down the box and took off his own cloak. He then settled it around my shoulders, straightening the rich fabric and finally letting his hands come to rest on my upper arms. "Minerva…I think this is it."  
  
"What is it?" Things were moving so quickly…  
  
"Well…Dad is preparing to move against Grindlewald."  
  
I was shocked. "What?"  
  
"He's going after Grindlewald. He can't be far. As soon as Dad got word of the attack, he immediately repaired the holes so Grindlewald can't get out except by Floo…and neither can anyone else. You can only get in."  
  
I pulled the folds of his cloak closer around me, cold. "So I'm going right into a fight?"  
  
He looked at me gravely. "Could be."  
  
"Will you…will you be with me?" I hated sounding like a weak female, but I was scared.  
  
Theron stared at the darkened window. "No."  
  
"I…I don't want…"  
  
"Minerva, try to understand!" He sounded anguished. "I'd give my…I'd do anything to be at Dad's side right now, much less yours…but I'm on the run. We succeeded yesterday in reconstructing Iona Westhaven's memory, and when questioned, she confirmed that Andronicus Malfoy is Grindlewald's main backer…and now Malfoy is out for my head. Sherrinford Shiftlet confirmed it for me this morning." Sherrinford Shiftlet ran one of the most notorious shops in Knockturn Alley. Theron noted my surprise and said with a brief half-smile, "Oh, yes. Sherrinford is quite firmly entrenched on our side – but don't let that get out."  
  
"Where will you go?"  
  
"Anywhere and everywhere. Dad has asked me to lead him a merry old dance all over the Isles – everywhere but Hogwarts. Malfoy has minions, yes, but not enough to send them both after me and to Hogwarts to aid Grindlewald. And Andronicus Malfoy wants to do all he can to keep his name from being tarnished…" He got a resolute look on his face. "Dad…Dad will send me word once things are clear." I could see in his face that he refused to believe that the outcome would be anything other than his father emerging victorious. "You'll be careful?"  
  
I put my arms around him, listening to his heartbeat. We settled in against each other, allowing ourselves a brief moment of respite from the coming storm. I said, "I'll be as careful as you will."  
  
He smiled down at me. "Then you'd best take excellent care of yourself, Minerva-girl."  
  
That little endearment gave my fright-frozen heart the warmth it needed to push off. "Be safe, Theron."  
  
"I will." He smiled at me, those blue eyes not-quite-sparkling. "Go on, now."  
  
I opened the dispatch-box, took a handful of Floo powder, and threw it into the fire. "Hogwarts!"  
  
And with one last look at Theron, I gathered his cloak about me and strode into the fire. 


	6. Part 6

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindlewald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.  
  
-The back of a Chocolate Frog trading card  
  
I stepped through the fireplace cautiously, wand drawn. Nothing was going on. The classroom that I had landed in was deserted.  
  
Good.  
  
Wand at the ready, I sidled out into the hall. I got my bearings and sped off towards the hospital wing.  
  
Madam Pomfrey was relatively new, but she was very, very good. Last year, she repaired half the Gryffindor Quidditch team after a particularly brutal match against Slytherin that almost cost one of our Chasers her eye. Madam Pomfrey's cool, collected professionalism made me respect her, and her deep- seated loyalty to Puddlemere United made me like her. I knew that Maimonides was in good hands.  
  
I knocked on the door. "Madam Pomfrey?"  
  
I heard a familiar, gruff voice say, "Who goes there?"  
  
"It's Minerva McGonagall."  
  
She said suspiciously, "Who was Puddlemere's fourth Seeker?"  
  
I racked my brain. "Er…" And then it came to me. "Geoffrey of Paggleham."  
  
"What's your brother's middle name?"  
  
"Anselm."  
  
"What's your middle name?"  
  
I groaned. "Madam Pomfrey, don't you have a Sneakoscope or something…?"  
  
Silence.  
  
I leaned in closer to the door, not wanting to stay unprotected in the hall for a minute longer than I had to. "Melanthropes."  
  
I heard a dry chuckle. "All right, Minerva. When I've got everything cleared out, you'll have approximately three seconds to get in, so step lively."  
  
She mumbled various counterspells for a moment, and then opened the door. "Hurry up, now!" I scurried inside, and she slammed the door behind me and put back the various wards on the door. She turned away from the door and beckoned me, heading off among the many curtained cots. "I wish I could greet you in better circumstances, Minerva."  
  
"How – how is he?"  
  
"Out of any danger," she said briskly. "I've been giving him some fairly strong analgesics, and he's been sleeping most of the afternoon. He'll be up and around in a few days…"  
  
I could hear her unfinished thought: If we're still around in a few days.  
  
She pulled back a curtain and stepped around it. I followed her.  
  
My brother's face was pale and pinched. He slept, but fitfully, with twitches and little tics. My hand came unbidden to my mouth, and I saw, with a nasty tug, that his prefect's badge sat on the stand by his bed, glinting forlornly in the soft light of the lamp, as if in posthumous – no, never that – tribute to his bravery.  
  
Madam Pomfrey bent over him and rested the back of her hand gently on his forehead. "He's still feverish." With a soft tsk, she turned away from him. "I'm going to find something to bring down his fever." She swept out, leaving me alone with my baby brother.  
  
There was an uncomfortable-looking chair by his bed, and I occupied it, taking his hand. It was cold, damp, and tense. The fingers flexed and trembled jerkily, and I stroked them, trying to calm them, holding back tears.  
  
My little brother. My pompous, stiff little brother. My pompous, stiff little brother who teased me mercilessly, executed acts of espionage with panache, and faced down threats to his charges fearlessly. If I had ever wondered why he had been in Gryffindor, I had my answer now.  
  
His already somewhat labored breathing became even more so, and I wondered about calling Madam Pomfrey. However, before I could do anything about it, his eyes blinked wide open, and he tried to sit up, looking scared out of his wits, calling out desperately, "Demetria!"  
  
"Maimonides, it's Minerva." He looked around wildly, and I gently made him lie back. "It's Minerva. Demetria is safe." I didn't know if that was the truth, but I assumed that it was – Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have it any other way.  
  
He took a deep breath and settled back, seeming for all the world like a frightened little boy. "Oh," he said in a small voice. "Oh."  
  
I tried to smile at him. "How are you feeling?"  
  
He managed to pull a long face. "Like a herd of Erumpents just ran over me."  
  
"That bad?"  
  
He nodded. "Have they told you what happened?"  
  
"Theron told me, yes."  
  
"Theron?"  
  
"He came to fetch me – I came straight away."  
  
Maimonides said, "So he talked to Professor Dumbledore?"  
  
"Professor Dumbledore was the one who told Theron to come get me."  
  
"Professor Dumbledore is all right?"  
  
I hesitated. "As far as I know." I didn't want to tell him that Professor Dumbledore was going after Grindlewald.  
  
He closed his eyes. "Good."  
  
Madam Pomfrey came back with a smoking chalice. "All right, young man. Time to – "  
  
She never got to finish her sentence. A loud explosion rocked the castle – a very loud explosion – and Maimonides yelped in pain, his bed having been shaken. Madam Pomfrey said quickly, "Minerva, I'll have to ask you to leave briefly – " and immediately began ministering to him.  
  
I ducked out from behind the curtain and dashed to the window. I looked down and gasped.  
  
On the grounds below, Professor Dumbledore was crumpled in a heap as a visage I remembered well loomed over him with a horrible grin. Grindlewald raised his wand high, seeming to summon strength from an unknown source –  
  
Almost without thinking, I pulled my wand from my sleeve and aimed it at Professor Dumbledore, hissing, "Renovo!"  
  
And I saw Professor Dumbledore grasp his wand tighter and shout, "Verbero!" Grindlewald fell back, giving Professor Dumbledore time to regain his feet and begin belaboring Grindlewald again with various hexes. I was unable to keep myself from doing a small victory dance.  
  
A voice behind me said evenly, "Nice work."  
  
I turned. There was a slim boy behind me – pale, dark hair, unreadable face. I recognized him. "Tom Riddle."  
  
"Minerva McGonagall," he returned.  
  
"What year are you now, Riddle?" There was no rhyme or reason to it, but I had never quite trusted him…  
  
"Fourth."  
  
Earmarked for a prefect, no doubt. And if he continued his rise in the Hogwarts ranks, he'd be the first Slytherin Head Boy in ten years.  
  
"You're here to see your brother, I imagine," he said.  
  
"Do you know anything about what brought him here?" I wondered why Riddle was here himself – he seemed in good enough health.  
  
"Of course. I helped Professor Dumbledore bring him up here."  
  
Ah. And he had to stay behind, no doubt, because nobody knew where Grindlewald was. I didn't like turning my back on him, but I wanted to see what was going on, and so I went back to the window. They were still at it – Grindlewald had recovered from Professor Dumbledore's onslaught and was blasting away.  
  
Riddle appeared at my shoulder. "A good fight."  
  
"If a fight like this can be termed as 'good'," I said, trying to keep a sententious tone out of my voice. Really. Slytherins were all alike.  
  
We turned our attentions to the battle going on below us. It seemed as though Professor Dumbledore gained ground, then Grindlewald gained ground, and as time passed, Professor Dumbledore's hair got singed by a near miss from the Exterminus Hex, and Grindlewald fought hard from a sitting position due to a well-placed Jelly-Legs Curse.  
  
They battled back and forth, Grindlewald throwing invective at Professor Dumbledore, threatening his family, saying what he'd do to his children – I grasped the windowsill hard at that, Riddle looking at me curiously – while Professor Dumbledore grimly fought on, looking for any hole to dodge through.  
  
The whole thing only took about ten minutes, I discovered afterwards, but it seemed to last at least an hour. Grindlewald, obviously out of ideas, tried his new Cruciatus. I saw Professor Dumbledore lunge to the side, and just before the curse hit him, he launched a quick Body-Bind that Grindlewald couldn't duck due to his prone position and the strength it took to cast the Cruciatus. With a cry of horror, I helplessly watched Professor Dumbledore try to resist it, but fail.  
  
I looked at Riddle briefly, and it was as though he watched tricks in a circus, or as if he was a child in Honeyduke's. I cast him a furious look, which he did not notice, and looked back to Professor Dumbledore just in time to see him reach out with his empty wand hand and cry desperately, "Cremo!"  
  
There was a burst of flame that lit up the castle – I could see centaurs at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, venturing out cautiously to watch the battle, flee back into the wood – and I had to blink several times before I could look again. Professor Dumbledore had collapsed.  
  
I flew to the door, yelling, "Finite Incantatem – Octavius Pritchard!" (Octavius Pritchard was Madam Pomfrey's favorite Beater – she used his name for every password.) The wards dealt with, I ran down the corridor, down the flight of stairs, and outside, where there was a black spot on the ground where Grindlewald's body had rested next to Professor Dumbledore, who was trying to push himself up on his elbows, letting go of something crumpled in his hand. "Professor!"  
  
He shook his head, seeming fuddled. Those blue eyes focused, and he smiled rather foolishly. "Hello, Minerva."  
  
"Professor, are you – "  
  
He waved a hand weakly. "I'm fine. Just help me stand, would you?"  
  
I attempted to help him sit up, but the aftereffects of the curse prevented that. I heard him mumble something rather inappropriate, and I hid a smile, almost giddy with relief. He said, "You'll have to use magic."  
  
I nodded. "Mobilicorpus!" And he rose gently into the air. I prodded him along with my wand, opening doors for him, going back up the stairs and into the Infirmary. "Madam Pomfrey!"  
  
She hurried over from behind Maimonides's curtain. "Professor!"  
  
He blinked. "Hello, Poppy."  
  
I interjected, "He was hit with the new Cruciatus."  
  
She said, "Oh, my," and immediately disappeared into her stockroom, calling over her shoulder, "Minerva, stick him on the nearest bed." I did so. She bustled back out, holding a small tin.  
  
Incredulous, I said, "Are those – "  
  
"Lemon drops. Yes. I've been doing research – "  
  
"With assistance from Theron," Professor Dumbledore added with a soft grunt of pain.  
  
" – and it seems that these help the aftereffects of the new Cruciatus much like chocolate helps with the aftereffects of exposure to Dementors." She extracted one from the tin and said, "Open up, Professor." He obeyed, and she stuck a lemon drop on his tongue. After a few seconds, he relaxed and was able to stretch.  
  
He said contentedly, "That's much better, Poppy. Much nicer than a potion."  
  
She smiled at him. "Just suck on that for a bit, then – I'm going back to see young Mr. McGonagall." Her eyes met mine, and she said firmly, "And young Mr. McGonagall will be right as rain by tomorrow noon." A confident, warm smile shone on us both. "I'll leave the tin." And she bustled off.  
  
Professor Dumbledore looked at me, the line of his shoulders much looser than before. I wondered if it had fully hit him that he had just defeated the world's greatest Dark wizard. "Minerva, as it's over, I should like to see Theron."  
  
As would I, I thought, but I didn't say so.  
  
"Will you do me a favor?"  
  
I nodded.  
  
"The password to my office is Devonshire cream. Go to my desk. In the top left-hand drawer, you will find a box of Fizzing Whizbees. Tap the box three times with your wand and say Illustrum Pennipotenti." I looked at him quizzically. "Theron has a Knut in his pocket that is actually a Portkey. He has been instructed to try it every ten minutes. The box of Whizbees serves as a sort of remote for the Portkey – the Portkey will not work unless the Whizbees have been activated." I nodded. It was rather ingenious. "Wait for Theron in my office. Be sure that you don't sit in my chair – that's where the Portkey will deposit him." He smiled at me and gingerly sat up in his bed. "Go on, now – I expect to be up and bothering our good Madam Pomfrey in the next ten minutes, and I'd like Theron to be here to help me." I laughed quietly and turned away from him.  
  
But as I passed the doorway that led into the main Infirmary area, I saw Tom Riddle jump guiltily from the spot where he had been listening to Professor Dumbledore. I gave him a sharp look and continued, reminding myself to tell Professor Dumbledore at the earliest opportunity to change his password as soon as possible.  
  
I nearly glided down the silent halls, twisting and turning, so familiar with these corridors that I could walk them in my sleep. I arrived outside Professor Dumbledore's office, gave the password, and activated the remote. I took a chair in front of his desk and waited.  
  
A book lay open on Professor Dumbledore's desk. I craned my neck to look at it, and realized that it wasn't a book – it was a photo album. As it gave me something to do while I waited – and kept me from wondering just what Andronicus Malfoy had done to Theron to keep him from Portkeying in immediately – I picked it up.  
  
The picture that the album showed was taken under a rose bower – white roses. From the looks of things, it was the terrace behind Weathervane. Professor Dumbledore stood, looking younger, with a laughing, raven-haired young woman holding a small child who looked adoringly up at his father. The inscription below the photograph read Albus, Mariana, and Theron Dumbledore – June 1922. Professor Dumbledore turned and plucked a small white rosebud and tucked it behind his wife's ear with a gentle smile. Mariana blushed. I smiled, going back to the beginning of the album.  
  
I saw years unfold in front of my eyes. Professor Dumbledore and Aunt Alyce were there, dancing under an old oak tree as children. Professor Dumbledore on his graduation from Hogwarts. A beautiful picture of his and Mariana's wedding. And then, on the next page, an oaken cradle with a dark-haired baby in it. The baby's eyes were open, and they were a piercing, strangely omniscient-seeming blue. Theron Dumbledore, the inscription said.  
  
I shook my head, snapping myself out of my mini-trance, and continued looking through the album. A picture at King's Cross, labeled Theron boarding the Hogwarts Express. He was quite obviously a first-year, looking horribly nervous – and adorable. Continuing through the pages. And then there was a picture that gave me pause – a gaunt-looking Mariana Dumbledore, trying so hard to smile and laugh for her husband. Professor Dumbledore held her hand, obviously holding back tears. They were in a room in St. Mungo's – I could tell by the white walls.  
  
And then one last picture – or rather, a place where a picture was. The square area where the picture had been glued was darker than the paper around it, and the inscription read, Mariana, 1917.  
  
I thought I knew where that picture had gone. I had a brief glimpse of that piece of paper that had fallen out of Professor Dumbledore's hand – it was a picture of a young woman with a beautiful smile. A smile just like Theron's. Professor Dumbledore, carrying a token of his Lady into battle. I closed the album and replaced it on his desk, feeling sad and nosy and all- around miserable.  
  
And that was when a welcome sight fell into Professor Dumbledore's old, creaky chair, black hair mussed, eyes hardened, and quite out of breath. Theron gripped the arms of the chair, looking about him wildly. He then realized where he was and grinned – until he saw me. "Minerva! But – where's…" I saw his face grow more and more frightened, and I cut in hurriedly. "He's in the hospital wing, and he's going to be fine."  
  
He rose from his chair and came around the desk in an absurdly small amount of steps and seized my forearms. "Dad's not – Grindlewald didn't – "  
  
"Your father killed Grindlewald, and he's recovering quite quickly from the aftereffects of the new Cruciatus – Madam Pomfrey found a helpful palliative. He's alert, he's talking, and he wants to see you."  
  
And Theron drew me tightly into his arms, burying his face in my neck, and all his cedar and leather scent flooded over me like an intense, all- encompassing wave, and I was hard-pressed to hold back the tears. Theron was safe. Professor Dumbledore was safe. Maimonides was safe. No more Grindlewald. Everything would be all right.  
  
Theron raised his head and looked at me, running a trembling hand down my face, speaking as though he'd heard my thoughts. "It's all right?"  
  
I nodded. "It's all right."  
  
He smiled shakily. "That's…good."  
  
I laughed. "Silly. Come to the hospital wing now – Professor Dumbledore wants to see you." We almost ran down the halls, hand in hand. It was so good to be near him again, to feel his fingers threaded through mine, to be able to see him and know that he was safe.  
  
And as we approached the door, it was opened by Professor Dumbledore, who swept Theron into a hard embrace. I watched the two of them mistily, as did Madam Pomfrey, leaning on the doorjamb.  
  
And as did Tom Riddle, hanging back in the shadows with an indefinable look on his face.  
  
They broke apart. Professor Dumbledore was the first to speak. "And Andronicus Malfoy gave you no problems?"  
  
Theron said, "It was a close thing there at the end – a good thing that Minerva activated the Portkey when she did." He sent me a look that made my knees go weak.  
  
And there went Professor Dumbledore smiling into his moustache again. "Er…and exactly where did you lead Mr. Malfoy?"  
  
Theron snorted. "Malfoy himself had nothing to do with it. It was those two henchmen of his, Crabbe and Goyle…they're the ones who gave me the most trouble. I let them see me in Knockturn Alley, and then from there we went to Stonehenge, and then to the Baliol cricket field in Oxford, and then to Westminster Abbey, and a watering-hole in Cornwall, and a tea shop in Edinburgh…all over. They never caught me."  
  
"And no Muggles saw you?"  
  
"None."  
  
Professor Dumbledore smiled. "Excellent."  
  
However, I wondered. The 'close thing' – what had it entailed?  
  
Madam Pomfrey cleared her throat. "Professor?"  
  
He turned around. "Yes?"  
  
"If you'd like to go, I can't think of any reason to keep you here. Perhaps you'll escort young Mr. Riddle here to the Great Hall and tell everyone it's safe to come out…?"  
  
He smiled at her. "I'll do that, then."  
  
She handed him the tin of lemon drops. "Take one of these every hour for the next six hours, mind."  
  
He nodded. "Of course, Poppy. Thank you." And with a last smile at me and Theron, he beckoned to Tom Riddle – Professor Dumbledore, being sharp as a tack, had not failed to notice Riddle in the corner – and they left.  
  
Madam Pomfrey said to me, "Minerva, your brother is sleeping now, and in a lot less pain. It would be advisable to not have much disturbance – you may come back and visit him tonight."  
  
"All right." He'd be better off asleep, and as he wasn't in any danger, there was no reason for me to stick around the place – especially since Theron was there.  
  
The object of my thoughts smiled down at me. "I suppose we'll be off then, Madam Pomfrey."  
  
She smiled at us. "I'll see you tonight." And then the door closed, and we were alone.  
  
Theron took my hand. "Minerva, are you hungry?"  
  
My stomach, forgotten in the panicked state of the last two hours, immediately created quite a ruckus at the mention of food. "Quite."  
  
"I know an excellent place for us to go, then."  
  
Down the halls, up and down staircases, through a veritable garden of stolid silver suits of armor, and we stopped in front of a painting – a still life of fruit. Theron drew out his wand and tapped a pear, and the portrait swung open to tantalizing smells of glorious food. Theron bowed to me. "After you, madam."  
  
I curtsied gracefully. "Thank you, good sir." His smile flashed at me, and I felt my knees go weak again. I recovered and launched myself through the portrait hole.  
  
Looking around, I saw what could be nothing other than the Hogwarts kitchens. House-elves ran around frantically, clad in Hogwarts tea-towels. One took notice of us and ran over, ears flopping, and he flung his arms around Theron's knees. "Master Dumblydore! Master Dumblydore!"  
  
Theron tried to free his knees from the elf's strong lock around them. "Hello, Bippy."  
  
'Bippy' said, "Master Dumblydore – and Missy Minerva! Is you wanting food?"  
  
"If it's not too much trouble," said Theron.  
  
And just like that, we were led off to a small table for two in the corner, and we were presented with hot, fresh bread and a thick stew. Thanking Bippy politely, we tucked in. The stew was thick, with large chunks of meat and vegetables, and I savored every bite – it was the first real meal I'd had since Christmas dinner. Theron and I did not speak until we had mopped up the last bit of stew with the remaining crusts of our bread. One of Bippy's cohorts popped up and swept away our crockery, while another brought us mugs of cocoa and scones with jam.  
  
For a while, we sipped thoughtfully, spreading scones thickly with the jam and taking careful, slow bites. As I polished off my first scone, something that had been eating away at my mind for the last hour finally asked itself. I said abruptly, "What was going on right before you Portkeyed in?"  
  
Theron set his mug down and appeared to be gathering his thoughts. I was quiet. After a moment, he said, "D'you remember where it was I told Dad I went?"  
  
I nodded. He continued, "After I'd landed in Edinburgh, I was very, very tired. I'd been Apparating and Disapparating all day, and I was running out of places to go. Thankfully, Crabbe and Goyle were more exhausted than I was, and they flagged, and I had a chance to catch my breath. But then Crabbe and Goyle were pulled off me, and Malfoy put two fresh ones on me – I didn't know where else to go. I Disapparated one more time, hoping I could make a stand – " His voice cut off, and I took his hand across the table. He took a deep breath and continued. "And I landed in the woods behind Weathervane – where my mother is buried." I remembered the photograph of Mariana Dumbledore in her room in St. Mungo's with a twinge of guilt and sympathy. "A few minutes later, they showed up. We – traded fire for a while, and then I remembered the Portkey, and I tried it, and – thank Merlin – it worked. I don't think I could have lasted much longer." A sigh escaped him, and he closed his eyes. I thought I understood how he was feeling – relieved that his father was safe and that he'd passed the test that his father had set for him – knowingly or unknowingly – with flying colors. He was exhausted – very exhausted, I noted. There was a certain sag to his entire countenance that would not have been there if he had not extended himself so much that day and been so worried. He seemed weighed down. I wished I could see the spark of intense liveliness that was so often there in his eyes – it was quite conspicuously absent.  
  
His eyes opened suddenly, and amazingly enough, a hint of that spark was back. I felt better. "Let's walk."  
  
We bade farewell to Bippy and left, walking aimlessly arm in arm all over the school. We stopped in the trophy room, and he immediately found the list of Head Girls. He stopped when he got to my name. "There you are." He reached out and ran a finger over my name, tracing a finger around the picture frame. The Minerva McGonagall in the picture shied away from his touch, looking out distrustfully. Theron looked at me, seeming grave, but with a dangerous air of amusement behind that façade. "Standoffish, were you?"  
  
I furiously hid a blush. "Most people would put it that way."  
  
His face lost that amused look. "There was no one for you in your classes?"  
  
I thought. "No. Why do you ask?"  
  
The plain grave look was replaced by fleeting nervousness, then resolve, and then a look of complete innocence. "No reason."  
  
I gave him the hairy eyeball. "No reason?" I repeated.  
  
He began to look distinctly uncomfortable. "Well…" he hazarded.  
  
I raised an eyebrow.  
  
And then the thing I had never thought to hear out of any man's mouth, much less his, popped out. "Will you marry me?"  
  
I was absolutely flabbergasted. I wanted to respond. I wanted to say yes. I couldn't – I was too surprised. He took the ensuing silence to mean disapproval, and he said hurriedly, "I know it's only been a few months, and I know we're – we're both new at this sort of thing, but Minerva, I – I love you more than I've ever loved anyone. I look at you and I see my thoughts and beliefs reflected in your eyes. You're so much like me…and yet you have a sparkle, something indefinable, that's all your own – something strange and wonderful that I love. Minerva, if – if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife, you…I cannot tell you how happy it would make me."  
  
I would have laughed at the earnest, imploring look on his face except that I was still speechless. I swallowed down the huge lump in my throat and made my answer.  
  
"Yes," I whispered.  
  
When we got around to leaving the trophy room, we ran smack into Professor Dumbledore. He looked askance at us, and then Theron said, "Er, Dad…"  
  
He raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"  
  
My fiancé – how odd that sounded – said, "Well…"  
  
I interjected, "That is to say…"  
  
"We're sort of…"  
  
I looked at him indignantly. "Sort of?"  
  
Theron half-smiled. "Well, not sort of."  
  
"I should certainly hope not, after that speech!"  
  
"I meant every word of it," he assured me.  
  
"That's good," I said, not able to hide a wide grin.  
  
Professor Dumbledore said wryly, "You two care to get on with it, or shall I just tell myself that you're engaged and have done with it?"  
  
We turned and looked at him, agape. He said, waving a hand, "If I waited for you to spit it out, we'd be here all night, and I wouldn't have the opportunity to congratulate you both."  
  
We looked at each other, then back at Professor Dumbledore. And then all three of us started to laugh.  
  
Two of us, anyway.  
  
Professor Dumbledore was smiling into his moustache. 


End file.
